


Personal Time

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, That's going to clog the drain John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: 'can a request a nsfw imagine where the reader accidentally walks in on one of the boys (pref John or Ringo) touching himself??'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s hard living with a rock star.

Well, a pop star.

Well, sort-of-four of them.

Okay, so you’re not exactly _living_ with them, but you’re there often enough to be classed as such, you think grumpily as you ascend the stairs with an armful of socks. Technically they’re not _living_ together either, but it’s easier to record if they’re all nearby, and so they’re all crammed in here for a few weeks. Why _you_ , as a mere casual acquaintance, are the one doing the laundry today is beyond you…

You push open the bedroom door – to your surprise, John appears to be already up and at ‘em. The bed is empty, and you raise an eyebrow, even as your stomach sinks a little. He’s a very attractive guy, is John, and you can’t say you weren’t looking forward to seeing him sleepy and shirtless – you shake your head. Probably a bad idea. You cast around for any washing, but the room essentially has a new flooring of dirty clothes, and so you march back out, muttering threats.

You are so irritated that you open the bathroom door without realising anybody is in there.

The cloud of steam alerts you first – you inhale to apologise loudly and back away, when the steam clears a little and you see who is in the shower. It’s John, and suddenly that big breath you took has just left your lungs entirely.

He really is very attractive, you think faintly, as you look at him – his body is all curves and softness, russet hair plastered flat to his head as water outlines every inch of him. Indeed, you’re so busy staring at his profile, that aquiline nose and those strong shoulders, that you forget you can sneak a peek at the main event, as it were, and when you do, you nearly stumble back out of the room when you realise what’s happening.

John is touching himself.

Those broad, rough fingers are wrapped around his erection and he’s stroking himself, one arm on the white tiled wall to balance – your heart thuds, and you feel yourself tingle between your thighs as you can’t help but stare. You’ve… well, you’ve never done… anything with a guy before furtive fumblings at the back of cinemas or in cars – it’s just not really been in the cards for you, but this sends some primal feeling through your body and you bite your lip.

His eyes are squeezed shut, whether from the water or concentration you don’t know, and he tilts his head back a little; his cheeks are flushed, as is that gorgeous chest, and as you watch, he softly and gently moans. He’s almost as musical now as when he’s onstage, you think, hand to your chest, socks discarded on the floor, and feel your breathing get a little ragged. Another moan, and its words this time.

“Oh-h-h-h, yeh…”

 _What is he thinking of?_ you wonder, and have to stifle a little jealousy. Some fan, no doubt, on their knees in front of him – you’ve heard him joking with the boys about it, with friendly George and beautiful, sweet Paul and even polite, sweet Ringo. Boys will be boys, you think, and wish it was you he was thinking of.

“Yeh…”

His movements have sped up, and his eyes are still squeezed shut, although his jaw is now tensed, and his teeth bared – you suddenly wish it was you touching him, and the thought sends aftershocks through your body. Your cheeks burn suddenly, and you know you shouldn’t be watching, but… you want to see. You want to see everything.

“(Y/N).”

That stops you cold, and your jaw drops, even as a swell of arousal through your body threatens to make you add your high-pitched gasp to his lower moans – you put your hand to your mouth, and your heart jackhammers in your chest. Is he thinking of you? He certainly doesn’t seem to have noticed you, although his panting has reached hyperventilation levels, and his movements seem irregular-

“F-fu-fuck…”

He stills for a moment, and then you watch in fascination as he cums all over his hand, and the shower floor. You’ve used that shower, you think for a moment in disgust, but then what you are watching hits you, and you watch as he groans his way through his orgasm, still stroking himself. You close your eyes for a moment to compose yourself – you shouldn’t have watched, you should go now before he notices you-

“Enjoy the show, ey, love?”

Your eyes spring open, and you see him watching you – his eyes, dark enough at the best of times, could swallow worlds right now, and he’s still holding his softening erection, chest heaving as he tries to get his breath. He smirks as you squeak in terror, and then you grab the socks.

“I… uh… I was…” you stammer, and he winks at you, before raising his hand to wash it off in the shower stream. You bolt, but you still hear the last thing he has to say before the door shuts.

“Yeh can have a personal viewin’, if yeh like.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 'Omg! I just read the imagine of the reader walking in on john in the shower?? Could u do a part two of that??'
> 
> OF COURSE I CAN.

“Hey, love.”

You jump and swear violently as Paul puts his hand on your shoulder, and then relax, shaking your head. Paul looks around the kitchen, and then leans in a little.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

This is a very big fib. You are not, in fact, alright. You are not even approaching ‘alright’. You’re not even ‘okay’. ‘Passable’ seems like a bit of a stretch. You are extremely un-alright, not-okay right now, and it’s all because you can’t stop thinking about John Lennon having a wank in the shower. Admittedly, lots of girls your age suffer from this, but, you muse dazedly, most of them don’t have a first-hand experience to go on.

“Are you sure, like?” Paul sits opposite you, and you reach out for your cup of tea, taking a sip before grimacing. It’s cold. Fuck.

“She’s fine, Paulie.” That purr from behind you nearly makes you wet your knickers; you spin around, and John’s stood in the doorway. He’s been wearing that smug grin for three days now. His face must hurt. You hope it does. “Aren’t yeh, (Y/N)?”

“Mmhmm,” you say tightly, and he throws himself into the chair next to you. You look aside, and his shirt is unbuttoned a little, just so you can see inside to that chest and remember how it looks flushed – you gulp another mouthful of tea, and nearly gag. _Fuck. Still cold._

“Would yeh like a fresh one, love?” Paul asks gently, and you nod; he grabs the mug, and John leans in as the bassist crosses the room to the kettle.

“Yeh’ve not been bothering any other poor sods in the shower, have yeh, dear?” he asks, low enough that your skin is tingling from your head to your toes suddenly, but not low enough for you to be sure that Paul didn’t hear. “I thought I was special…”

“Shut up,” you hiss, crimson, and John smirks – he’s a cruel man, sometimes, you think – and leans back. “Two sugars, Paul,” you say, louder.

“Make one for us, Paulie, will yeh.” Paul sighs loudly and grabs another mug, and you watch as he pours the water in – your fatal mistake. Your eyes are off John, and he leans in, mouth nearly next to your ear.

“Might make a lad jealous.”

Your body tenses up, but your skin still feels as if it is alight, every inch burning like… like you’re in a hot shower, actually, and then you feel his fingers on your arm and you nearly swoon. _Pathetic_. You shake your head, and nearly head-butt John in the face. He’d deserve it, too.

“Tea’s up,” Paul announces, and John leans away. “Quit botherin’ birds, yeh pervert.” John rolls his eyes.

“She started it,” he murmurs.  You look at Paul with eyes that you pray positively scream for help. Either they do, or you staring at him wide-eyed freaks him out, because he shoos John away with his cuppa and takes the seat next to you.

“So, love, that new film _The Birds_ is out.” You nod gratefully, and Paul shrugs. “Me an’ Rings are gonna head out and watch it, like… yer welcome to join us.”

“I’m going for a _shower_ ,” John announces at the doorway, and you take a gulp of your – very hot – tea. _Fuck!_

* * *

“ _Go, Johnny, go, go…_ ”

You sing to yourself – a quiet five minutes is not to be argued with, and you’ve taken the opportunity to have a shower yourself, free of the menace of any wandering, shark-eyed Lennons that may be around – after thoroughly showering off the bottom of the bath. _Very_ thoroughly. As you lather shampoo in your hair, you can’t help but think of him here, stroking himself – apparently to the thought of you. You flush. The way he moand-

“(Y/N)?”

You nearly fall out of the shower, and as you turn around, you see John in the doorway, watching. You throw your arms over yourself – _yes, that will work_ , you think acerbically at yourself – and he shakes his head.

“No fair. _You_ got the full show, like.” He’s so intense, staring at you like that, like he could devour you. You shiver, and he tilts his head. “Let me see, love.” You move your hands away from your body, and he looks you up and down. “‘Ey, you’re not bad at all…”

“ _Not bad_?” you echo back in disbelief.

“Passable,” John smirks, and you see him wink. “Now, seein’ as you got a lot more… touch yerself.” You nearly swallow your own tongue at the brazenness of his command. “C’mon, love. I want to see, like – then we’ll be even.”

 _Even_. You aren’t even sure how to… go about this. Of course you’ve touched yourself – it was the 1960s, for God’s sake, not the 1860s – but never in front of a man. You slide your fingers between your legs, and wonder what he’ll even be able to see from that angle. As you begin to gently rub yourself, searching for something to think about, you hear him inhale a little, and the thought of you flustering John Lennon gives you a good boost from the starting line, so to speak.

“John,” you murmur softly, and hear him murmur something. It might be your name. You’re not sure. You keep going, and your mind settles on him in the shower – good starting point. The way he looked – do you look like that? Flushed and debauched, skin shining under the water, lips pursed… thinking of John like that makes you shiver. Thank god you’re touching yourself – you know where, how.

The thought of John learning where and how indeed sends a wave of heat through your body, and you gasp, closing your eyes to chase the feeling. John studying your body, watching you now – is he watching to copy? You slide your finger down yourself and back up to your clit, the change in sensations making you moan slightly-

“John…”

“(Y/N).”

-and you hear him echo you – you look up to see his hand in his pants and those sleepy eyes fixed on you, slightly squinted because you’re more than a foot in front of his face. Next time, you hope, there won’t be that problem. Next time. You moan aloud at the thought of being that close to him, and he echoes your moan again, his breath catching in his throat. Heat flashes through your body again and you think about his fingers inside you – your teeth sink so hard into your lip you taste blood, and your eyes flutter shut again.

“God, John…”

You’re beginning to feel that tightening in the pit of your stomach, your toes curling a little against the porcelain of the bath as you whimper faintly. His mouth – god knows he’s got to be a talent with that, and you rock your hips against your fingers, waiting for that feeling to overwhelm you. You open your eyes a crack to see if he’s still watching you – he is, his eyes hooded and half-shut as he strokes himself, and you wonder what he’s imagining. What he wants you doing. You hardly dare to dream-

“Oh, god, (Y/N), I’m close…”

-and you feel a wave surge through you. So are you. So close, so close that you feel like you’re standing on tiptoe about to fall, and as you breathe in, eyes shut but mouth open, jaw slack, you hear nothing but his panting – god, god, god, you wish it was in your ear, right now…

“John,” you breathe, and come hard, fingers still rubbing your sensitive spot, feeling your legs buckle a little – you slump against the wall as you moan, and hiss, the cold surprising you. You open your eyes, just in time to see John tense up and his hand, still in his pants, stop its rhythmic movement. He grits his teeth and hisses your name and you watch, absorbing every moment – and then he looks down at his pants.

“…great,” he mutters, and shakes his head. “Look what yeh made me do.”

“I hardly made you do anything,” you grumble, and he begins to take off his pants. “Uh, excuse me?” He doesn’t listen, throwing all of his clothing in the laundry hamper – _so he does know where it is!_ – and then clambers into the bath and under the showerhead, grinning at you.

“Yeh can make it up to me by letting me shower with yeh. It’s really all for the environment like.” He kisses you, and the feeling is so good with your body all flooded with slow, dreamy tingles that you just go with it. “Flower power and all that shite.”

“Romantic,” you murmur, and he begins to stroke his fingers through your hair, washing out the last of the suds that you… forgot. You rest your fingers on his chest, and he kisses you again. “Are we… can we do that again?”

“Course, love. But like… I wanna see that properly. On a double-bed. And I wanna be able to touch,” he murmurs in your ear, and your heart flutters. “Definitely.”


End file.
